It’s 2AM.\u00c2\u00a0 I am slumped in a comfy chair in the Sastrugi bar, and I realise I have it.<\/p>\n
I have it.\u00c2\u00a0 It’s not a “Eureka!” moment, not an epiphany, but rather a gradually strengthening realisation, like the slow Antarctic dawn, increasing in radiance until the sun inevitably appears.\u00c2\u00a0 It is undeniable; I have it.<\/p>\n
I sit in the chair, head back, a glass of red wine idle in my hand, staring into space.\u00c2\u00a0 Like so many others in a bar at 2AM, my expression is vacant and my eyes dull.\u00c2\u00a0 This, however, is not the blissful stupor of those who have over-imbibed upon the sweet fruits of Bacchus.\u00c2\u00a0 This is not the Absence of ethanol-induced Oblivion.\u00c2\u00a0 This is the the Thousand-Mile Stare.<\/p>\n
Every adventurer, journeyman and voyager who contemplates wintering over on the white continent has heard of the Thousand-Mile Stare.\u00c2\u00a0 It is a famous attribute of those who have paid the price of solitude and earned the prize of seeing the beauty of Antarctica in all her vestments.\u00c2\u00a0 Every expedition brings the stories of conversations which span days although speech is few and far between; all tell of the odd habits of the bearded men and changed women who are to be found as the summer light spreads slowly towards the Pole.\u00c2\u00a0 One relief-team member describe how he arrived at a base to find each man’s room like a den, where he had retreated “…to make a nest in the wreckage of his personality.”\u00c2\u00a0 Every account speaks of men who stare into nothingness for minutes at a time, as if seeing a distant vision, but without any emotion.\u00c2\u00a0 The physiology, the psychology of being in this environment could occupy hundreds of pages of study; isolation, sensory deprivation; the soul’s immolation in the face of endless emptiness.\u00c2\u00a0 For a while though, I sit, not scientist, but philospher.<\/p>\n
Some questions are easy to answer.\u00c2\u00a0 Why am I in the bar at 2AM?\u00c2\u00a0 Have I turned to alcohol?\u00c2\u00a0 Not at all; it has been Monday for two hours, and Monday is the day for cleaning the base.\u00c2\u00a0 I can’t sleep, and so I might as well do my duty.\u00c2\u00a0 It is my turn to clean the bar and games area.\u00c2\u00a0 Hence, I am in the bar.\u00c2\u00a0 The red wine?\u00c2\u00a0 Well, there was a half-empty bottle, and I’m reading Hemingway.\u00c2\u00a0 “I remember times of no money and times of no wine.\u00c2\u00a0 The times of no wine were the hardest.”\u00c2\u00a0 No-one can deny the genius of Hemingway.\u00c2\u00a0 Hence, I am drinking the red wine.\u00c2\u00a0 Why am I slumped in the chair?\u00c2\u00a0 Well, I’m listening to Mozart, and I am overcome by his 20th piano concerto.\u00c2\u00a0 Safe in the knowledge that the bar is distant from the nearest sleeping quarters, I’m not playing it pianissimo<\/em>, and I’m not embarrassed that I am overcome.<\/p>\n I have been listening to more classical music than usual recently.\u00c2\u00a0 My music tastes are very broad, but classical and choral music have always been very close to my heart.\u00c2\u00a0 Here in Antarctica, every view seems to warrant an exceptional soundtrack.\u00c2\u00a0 Even the mundane sight of spindrift blowing past the base is breathtaking in the low sunlight of an autumn day.\u00c2\u00a0 Vistas of hundreds of kilometres can contain nothing but ice and air.\u00c2\u00a0 Men fall in love with the sea, but even the sea lacks the beauty of Antarctica.\u00c2\u00a0 If white is the colour of purity, it is only to prove the purity of this place.\u00c2\u00a0 Infinite complexity of form and the individuality of a million snowflakes are reduced to blazing white under a pure blue sky by summer and pitch blackness in winter… and then the uncountable tones of the shifting light begin to play across the endless ice.\u00c2\u00a0 Every tone of blue glows from glaciers; pinks, purples, oranges glaze each feature when the sun dips low; the aurora paints the sky with each hue of green in the depth of the winter night.\u00c2\u00a0 Only the most beautiful and epic music is worthy of this landscape.\u00c2\u00a0 The vista rips out my soul and belittles my humanity with every passing day.\u00c2\u00a0 I must feed my psyche to survive the beauty of the onslaught, hence I have been listening to more and more classical music.<\/p>\n It’s 2AM and I can’t sleep, and so I’m cleaning the Sastrugi bar to the sound of Mozart.\u00c2\u00a0 Safe in the knowledge that other ears are sufficiently distant, the volume is at a level which allows me to hear the violinist draw breath and the cellist move his fingers.\u00c2\u00a0 Menial labour is always good for philosophy, and music doubly so.\u00c2\u00a0 The last job – polishing the table – is complete.\u00c2\u00a0 I sit slumped in the comfy chair and stare into space. My mind expands over the ice.\u00c2\u00a0 It drifts over Lorentzenpiggen and admires the spire of it’s summit.\u00c2\u00a0 It takes in Knotten’s twin peaks, admires Robertskollen’s elegant wind-scoops and the bulk of Mount Schumacher.\u00c2\u00a0 It chuckles over the emotive Norwegian names.\u00c2\u00a0 It sinks into the glory of the tone of the piano, marvels at Mozart’s genius, feels the riptide of emotion as the orchestra reaches it’s climax.\u00c2\u00a0 My mind and soul are spread over hundreds of miles of empty, gut-wrenching, beautiful and deadly landscape…<\/p>\n …and somewhere within, I realise I have it.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" It’s 2AM.\u00c2\u00a0 I am slumped in a comfy chair in the Sastrugi bar, and I realise I have it. I have it.\u00c2\u00a0 It’s not a “Eureka!” moment, not an epiphany, but rather a gradually strengthening realisation, like the slow Antarctic dawn, increasing in radiance until the sun inevitably appears.\u00c2\u00a0 It is undeniable; I have it. 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